


The Things They’ll Never Tell You

by CosmeerSpots



Series: Broken Shield stories [2]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Wondrous Wanders AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24897664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmeerSpots/pseuds/CosmeerSpots
Summary: Sometimes, love shows in the quiet moments, in the little things that happen between great fights and unique experiences(ficlet collection for Broken Shield, bc Im p sure Im gon do a lot of wee lil stories for them)
Relationships: Broken Vessel | Lost Kin & The Knight, Broken Vessel | Lost Kin/Tiso, The Knight & Tiso (Hollow Knight)
Series: Broken Shield stories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1795171
Comments: 22
Kudos: 72





	1. Sleepyhead

There’s a silent little thud as a warm head collides with their thigh.

It startles them from their thoughts and brings them back to reality. Right. It’s late in the evening and they should be already on their way home.

The fight near the resting grounds against some feral bugs took both of them out, Broken will be honest. Even  _ their  _ legs are shaking from the effort to stay upright. Their heavy head is slowly drooping and they've given up long ago from trying to keep their shoulders squared and their wings from hanging from their back like a dead weight.

All they just need to do is tell Seer that the graveyard is free of danger, politely decline a stay and tea and be on their way home back to Dirtmouth. It’s… not a lot. It isn't much that they have to go through, still. Seer is just above them and Broken still has their tram pass from time before the Fall, which will take them from the Resting Grounds to the Forgotten Crossroads in no time. And then it’s just…

Tiso nuzzles closer against their leg. Subconsciously, of course, but that just makes them more aware of his fatigue.

When they move away, he almost falls over- he just  _ barely _ manages to catch himself. They kneel in front of him and snap their claws few times to catch his attention.

“W… what…?” he says to them, while slowly swaying from one side to the other.

“You are tired.” they sign to him, looking at him with mild worry, getting ready to catch him if he manages to lose his balance entirely.

“Bull..shit. That is bunch of bullshit… you are saying r-right now, Br-” a yawn cuts him off. “-ooks. Brooks.”

They are, for once, thankful for the scar in their right eye, because they  _ really _ need to communicate an eye roll to him right now. “Don't be stupid. You'll fall over before we even get to Seer. I can carry you, if you want.” Broken opens their arms for him. Nevermind their own weariness. They still have some fight in them- more than their partner does, apparently- and Tiso isn't heavy at all. It really wouldn't bother them.

He seems to think about it for a bit. “Great warriors don't need to be carried.” he states oh so confidently while failing to successfully cross his arms.

A tired quiet sigh leaves them. Of course he would pull that one on them. “...what about my lovely champion…? Would  _ he  _ care about being carried?” They try to trick him. Broken honestly doesn't have the patience for waiting on him right now. Their strides are already bigger than his and with him and his sluggish movements now? It would take them unreasonably long to get  _ anywhere. _

“He would… he would carry  _ you. _ ” Oh right. That's true, isn't it? Champions carry their partners, not the other way around. Huh, didn't think of that.

Tiso, instead of foolishly attempting to pick them up, takes the hem of their cloak in his hands. And that's when they realize they've won this. Thank the gods, honestly, it will be  _ so _ much easier like this.

One more yawn later and Tiso worms his way underneath their cloak. He nuzzles close against them. Right against the stupidly giant scar across their chest and they feel something warm bloom in their heart at that. He tries to put his arms around their neck and they hug him close and pick him up. It’s always so nice to have him in their arms. That's where he is safe. Nothing can get him there, because  _ they _ are right here and they won't let anything happen to him. They know well that he can protect himself. They recognize his skill, they really do. They respect his power. Still, they let themselves feel just a bit better when he rests against them.

Broken stands up with some difficulty. Okay, maybe they are more exhausted than they originally thought. But that is alright, because Tiso clings to them just a bit tighter, because his legs wrap around their waist and because they wrap one of their arms around his back, under his shield, while the other slings their nail back to its place between their wings.

With their partner against their thorax, hidden away by the rough cloth their sister had woven for them, their steps come lighter, easier. His warmth might fuel them just a bit. Maybe it makes them feel more welcomed in this world. _ Maybe. _

The Lumafly lamps guide them towards Seer and Tiso’s light snores calm their mind.


	2. old games from my better times

_Honestly, this is probably one of your stupidest ideas ever._

Broken whispers to him in his mind while standing next to him, hovering over him, looking as his hands work on tying ropes together strongly enough to not fall apart.

I don't know, replies Ghost as they hand him another rope, I think it sounds like fun, Brokey.

 **_Fun_** _, as defined by Tiso, can range anywhere from screaming from the top of Hallownest’s Crown- I still haven't forgiven you for that, by the way, you know very well that I can’t make a peep- to marching to your death in the Colosseum._ Broken counters, crossing their arms.

“Listen to the God here, Brooks, they are right. This is going to be fun as hell and you will _agree_ with me.”

 _Yeah, right, as if._ They kick at some of the water they are standing in, making it splash around.

Tiso looks over the Blue Lake while Ghost laughs at their sibling’s antics.

This place is a complete _bore._ Thankfully, he can remember something that he and other ants back in his colony used to do at the lake that laid not that far from their anthill. All he needs for this is his shield, long enough rope and a quick flier.

Long and unsevered rope that didn't have any use was impossible to find, so they had to settle for bunch of smaller ones and tie them together. Hopefully, the knots won't come apart at the worst time possible. The other two things? Easy fix. His trusty shield is always by his side and after couple of involuntary flights with Broken in past, he has decided that they were quite fast enough. They've _also_ reassured him that they can go even _faster_ which is… First of all really terrifying and second of all really neat.

The whole thing should be safe. He's going to be safe. Unless Broken decides to abruptly make a turn or stop, he's going to be as safe as one can possibly be in Hallownest.

“Are you sure you don't want to join in?” He turns away from his shield and the ropes to look at Ghost. “I know you've got wings, pipsqueak, why don't you fly along with Brooks?”

Ghost leans from one leg on the other before ruffling their cloak and pulling it around themself a bit tighter. Then they tell him; I'm not much good, yet, to be quite truthful… The whole concept of successfully soaring in the air seems really keen on avoiding me no matter what I do, for some reason.

 _They are getting better though._ Broken chimes in, giving them a thumbs up and probably a smile. _What’s your record right now? Around… 50 full seconds of pure flight and no gliding?_

The smaller Vessel sheepishly rubs at the back of their head. 48, actually… And I managed to fly up to Hollow’s horns!

_See! That's great! You used to be able to only flap once and now you can actually hold yourself up for a while! And our darling sibling is taller than any building in Dirthmouth.  
_

“That _is_ a good progress. Maybe one day you'll manage to be faster than Brooks and they'll get _so_ startled that they'll end up crashing into a wall.” He glances at his partner who seems just about ready to pounce him and start strangling him. “Not that they need to be left behind in the dust for that to happen, they keep crashing into doorways back home.”

Broken _explodes_ at that. They stomp their foot down and flap their wings threateningly, disrupting the calm waters. They start signing at him in Deepnest’s language, the one that they so very much refused to teach him or anybody else, probably cursing him out more than anybody ever did before. And Ghost, who doesn't understand either, just seems to not be able to stop laughing at them. Their own wings shift around before they plop down on the ground next to Tiso, clutching at their stomach, their shoulders trembling wildly, slightly leaning against him.

And yes, maybe he ends up smiling at the both of them. It feels incredible, to be with other bugs in such way again, to _belong_ somewhere.

He adds some finishing touches to his shield and attaches it to his feet before shuffling to the water. The lake is comfortably cold against his chitin, lapping at him with tiny waves.

Ah... I’ll wait for you guys here, stay safe. He turns around just in time to see Ghost waving at them while they move back to the path leading into the Forgotten Crossroads.

“Will do, captain, only the flora can fuck it up now!” he shouts after them before looking back to Broken and throwing them the ends of the connected ropes.

They put the ends away, into the crook of their elbow, so they can sign to him. With Ghost now further away, he probably wouldn't be able to hear them now as clearly. They lay out their left hand horizontally while bending the fingers of their other hand as if they'd try to cup something and then tapping the centre of their left palm with their claw tips. ’Again’, they are telling him.

Tiso is just going to assume they mean for him to repeat his incredible idea. They probably don't have more words for him, judging by their sassy condescending pose. Which is absolutely not fair, to be clear. He has done nothing wrong. ...This time and so far.

“Alright, fine, I will oh so graciously repeat myself.” He makes a show out of rolling his eyes before looking back at them. “The big idea is that you'll pull me along fast enough for me to “glide” on top of the water. We used to call it… _something_ back home, I can’t remember.” At their nod, he continues. “Try not to turn around too sharply, stop for no reason or let go off of either rope. Got it, winged vegetation?”

Broken nods at him again and takes a hold of the ropes, turning to him with their back and slowly waving their wings up and down. He scrambles to grab at the loop of the rope before tugging twice. He's ready to take off.

They shoot up into the air like a firework, soft glow betraying the otherwise unnoticeable use of a boosting spell.

The only thing he gets to think is that maybe making them a bit angry at him wasn’t such a good idea, before he's flying on the water’s surface after them.

Still, he can’t help but laugh in pure glee as the wind swishes by him. And, even when Broken lets go of the ropes to spite him and then lets themself fall into the water right next to him, he can’t say he regrets coming up with this idea.

After all, he got to speed after them, he got to splash them then and he got to help them dry both of their clothes and Broken’s wings off in the evening when they came back home and Myla complained to them about getting water everywhere.

Some memories that have come to him deserve to be embraced, he decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my cool friends are writing ASL signs into their fics let me joooooiiiin :cryingcatemoji:
> 
> Okay so fun facts:  
> I have no clue how to describe asl  
> I wrote this fast as fuck in under like 1 hour before goin to sleep  
> This was originally supposed to be an idea for a bigger art piece but I honestly dont have the time rn, so fic it is, even though it feels like this doesnt have that much of a point or need for existing. Call it a wee character study, if ud like, I suppose


	3. usually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warnings: gore and body horror

They didn't mean it.

**Oh, you did mean it, do not lie, child.**

They aren’t a child anymore. They've grown, they've fought and they've survived.

**Until you had not.**

Until they had not.

They can’t lie about that.

Is that what they are running from? Their own now age-old image? So wonderful and so real, rotting reflection of past that needs no mirror to exist that hunts them down, chasing after them in a place without features. Just pure darkness encompassing both of them and maybe the monsters hiding away in their psyche, too.

It has orange eyes, open head and sunlight spilling from it. It hates them and it wants them dead. It hates them, for they are the future that ran along a path that didn't tore at them as they deserve. There should be claws tearing away at their cape. Their wings should fall out of their back to never grow back and someone should be spilling their insides over their Mother’s Gardens.

Who knows? They are already a _freak,_ even amongst other freaks. Maybe something would spring up from their broken lungs, if only they weren’t so selfish and hadn't kept them only for themself. If only they have gifted them to the ground. Maybe their Mother might have loved them, then? If they gave their guts to the places She adores so? What if they gave Her their heart? Would She stroke their face lovingly while they'd die? What about their unreal eyes? Would She wear them like two too big black pearls on one of Her many branches? What about their chitin, their spleen, their stomach- What about what they have left of their brain? Would someone become smarter?

Ooohhh, would someone adore them, then?

Their reflection is closing in. Its dusty version of their nail scraping against the ground that isn't there, torn membranes trying to gift it flight so it'd catch up to them faster. It’s terrifying and it’s about to kill them. They can’t stop it.  
  
 **Let it come, let it come.**

There’s something singing in their head and they _can’t get it out- they never can-_

**Let it come, let it come. It will put you to slumber, it will grant you death like no other.**

They don't want that sort of death.

 **That does not matter, little sprout.**  
  
They know it doesn't.

Screech of a forgotten god echoes in the nothingness, but of theirs and not of the non-place they've found themself in. The next thing they know, hurt takes them. Because they aren’t fast enough to run from their mistakes, regrets nor sins. All three always catch up to them. All three always tear into them. All three impale them and break their fragile heart apart, just when they thought they've healed.  
  
Of course they haven't healed. How can they, when they are so laughably weak? They've _died,_ not once, twice or thrice, but oh so many times that they are starting to lose count.  
  
 **Do not be ridiculous. The tiny one has died many times more. Some of their endings were your fault, remember? You have cleaved them in half at least once.**

They have. They have and they regret it and their shade grows every time they admit it. They don't have the right to complain about their pains, or about how, sometimes, their soul is trying to claw its way out through their many scars.

They die again.

Another nail pierces them. Another sweet, wickedly sharp blade, another dreamy sensation of passing away.  
  
Burning Light sings to them and proposes them a lovely promise they cannot reject, for they do not have the choice. A pretty little promise, it is. It speaks of control no longer theirs, it speaks of the crushing “safety” of heavy feathers made out of pink sunrises.

 _She_ embraces them, even though She should be far away.  
  
They die again. Then once more. And again, because the number three is magical and they do not deserve the wonders of old sayings and silly myths.

They do not deserve _anything,_ because they failed at their _one_ purpose.

Ah. ...Right.

They should've lived on, as a guardian, as a watchful eye, as a night stained angel. For her. For the little crimson and no one else, because she was loved even by the ones who stabbed her deep until she bled out all of her hopes, till she ran emptier than white masks hidden away somewhere deep underneath the world. They were supposed to bandage her pains and give her their own wishes, for they should not have any use for those.  
  
And they failed at that and they failed at that, because they dared to _die_ and because they dared to have _opinions._

And they've failed and they've failed and they've failed and they've failed and they've failed and they've failed and they've left her behind in life by herself, to be lonely for the rest of the days. That's why Mother hates them so, isn't it? _Isn't it?_  
  
Because they've failed, because they've failed, because they've failed-  
  
 **Yes, because you have failed.**

 _Yes, because I have failed._  
  
They truly do deserve nothing else, only definitive final dea-  
  
Warm hands rest on their cheeks and somehow pull them out of the dream. They are warm in the _right_ way. Softly radiating natural heat of a living bug, only slightly muted by bandages that always hide them away.  
  
Broken inhales sharply when their eyes finally open. 

The first thing they get to see is Tiso’s face. There’s a small crease on his forehead as he frowns at them in worry and tilts their head one way and then the other, before letting it rest against the pillows again. He lies down on their chest, so he doesn't have to hold himself up. His thumbs brush against the edges of their eye sockets and their heart feels squeezed, suddenly. His thumbs brush away the tears that well up in their eye sockets and he doesn't protest when their own, much bigger hands rest over his.  
  
No words are spoken between them in the nights, in situations like these. At least usually. Because usually, all the other wants is a physical comfort. Because words sting at brains and tear through the blissful silence of darkness so aggressively, unlike pitiful quiet sobs. Words are made out of letters and rules and letters and rules don't make any sense. There’s time for speaking in the morning.

This is an “usually” occasion.  
  
He caresses away their hurt and kisses the tip of their mask lazily, still sleepy from his own rest. And they think- they think because they can and they think that they love thinking about him- and they think that just for him, they have to pull themself together again.

So they do.  
  
They pull their heart back into one piece, because like that it can give love to the ones who wish for it. They pull their shade back in, even though it wasn’t trying to escape in the first place, for they need it _there_ to not forget what experiences and mistakes thought them. Who would they be, if they hadn't failed even once, after all?

Certainly not the questionable, weird, small something that Tiso claims as his with so much adoration and pride in his voice.  
  
They love being his. He always- _usually-_ saves them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, one just gets overwhelmed with the need to write smth fucky fucky, but also smth fluffy fluffy :blushemoji:
> 
> Im thinking about taking requests for these, tbh? Like, if you have any smol teeny ideas youd want to see written about in around 1k words, I can prolly try and write about it


	4. Beautiful

The blades of his shield bury themselves in the ground. Right next to Broken's mask, right on the side where their mask is missing. Just few more millimeters and a piece of the soft chitin replacing bone would've been lost. With one small _shink_ they would have bled from their head again.

Their breath hitches and he can feel it, from where he's sitting on their chest as they lay on the ground, wings buzzing, one slitted pupil staring at him. 

As if expecting a finishing punch. As if daring him to do _something._

...all he does is reach his other hand out and settle it on the underside of their mask as he breathes heavily to reclaim his heart's correct rhythm.

They stare, leveling him up, expecting.

He stares… and let's his thumb run along the hidden seam of their mouth.

The bone that makes up their mask is rough, under his hand. It's dirty, with bunch of tiny scars decorating the uppermost layer of it - a sign of ruthless experiences they've gone through.

Everytime. Everytime he touches their face, his heart stutters at least a tiny bit.

The fight leaves them, when he silently sighs out, leaning closer, "You are so beautiful… So _stupidly_ beautiful..."

The body under him calms and their great head leans against his shield, no longer awaiting another strike of hurt from it, understanding of the softness of the moment, willingly letting it continue.

His hand slowly travels more up, the fingertips lightly running over their eye scar- the oldest one Broken has, they've told him once.

A low rumble starts up in their chest, letting him know of their appreciation for the gentle touch.

The scar feels somewhat smooth. As old as it is, the edges that once were perhaps sharp were filed down. It looks painful, still, and sometimes he wonders how did they get it. If they cried too hard, when their skull had split open to create it. He wonders, too, if it affected their vision any. If they are watching him right now, with the hungry darkness of their right eye, while the one he can see rests against ground.

Tiso doesn't know.

But it doesn't really matter to him.

Nothing matters, as long as they are here, near him, right where he can love them and their rough scars.

There’s certain _delicacy_ to them, too. To the way the dirty whiteness of their head carries itself. Not many can see it, he guesses, what with how strong the rest of them feels. With the size that he watched them gain over few years after they've recovered despite all odds from injuries that would have slayed anyone less determined to stay alive. Someone with skull cracked open, someone with only a thin layer of something resembling skin protecting their insides, _wil_ _l_ be delicate. That is no surprise, is it?

Who knows? Maybe it’s just him. Just him, a lonely little ant, that was allowed to rest near them in their weakest moments. Maybe he's one of only two beings that this very specific Vessel ever buried their face into while they cried.

His hand leaves the scar, in a slow caress to settle on their front horn as he thinks.

Vessel… What a word to describe something so charmingly living. To describe his _love_ with. It makes him clench his jaw tight in resentment to it.

He can feel them breathing underneath him. He can feel their heart slowing into something calm. He can see their claws relax around the handle of their nail in the peace of simple touch.

Face is a sacred little thing, in Hallownest, he understands. Face is something to be treasured, something to be even worshipped, to be hidden.

And they, as a Vessel, never got to choose what to do with theirs.

That disgusts him, that angers him, that makes his touches that much softer and that much caring- without him ever saying anything about his thoughts to them. If the world won't give them the love their enchanting not-real face deserves, if it decided to hide it against their wishes and then dare to _ruin_ it, then he will adore it till the death of the universe.

If only because of spite.

If only to make them sigh in blessed comfort. To make them nuzzle against his palm and stone on a path during evening after a spar, while the wind sings around them.

The twilight’s light paints their cloak warm colors, making dust on their mask play shadows, making breath catch in his throat again.

Oh, what did he do… What did he do, in his entire life, to deserve such fascinating someone to bloom in their own way in front of him in thousands ways every second of each day.

Tiso wouldn't think of crying now, right here. Because crying isn't something that is expected from him from both them and himself. He does let himself sigh, though. Shuddering and weak and somehow as if he just gave up on a thing.

Or maybe he _just_ won. Got to an end and now he gets to hold his prize.

Prize… A trophy… That's what they are to him, aren’t they?

Forehead meets bone, his shield falls to ground as his arm slips from it. Broken lets out a startled click at the unexpected sound, shifting for a second before he pacifies them with putting his now free forearm under their neck, pulling them into a hug.

Blade shuffles against the ground as cold claws let it go. Too big hands settle on his back and then pull him closer against their chest to make the hug something more proper.

No… no no no.

Prizes are somethings that exist for others. Trophies are just _vessels_ carrying empty victories claimed by sharpness, brute strength and force. He would be no better than the old King, if he thought them a prize.

Broken is, _somehow,_ much more than that. They are something that he doesn't know the word for. They are something that simply _is._

They _are_ and he will be forever grateful they chose to let their love be _his,_ too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who wouldve thought id manage to write smth self-indulgent like this of this length dgmskdlk


	5. 2 am tinkerings

A clock behind them ticks away.

Steady beat of calming sound, relaxing their mind even further than it was, begging them to just turn around and go back to bed already. It’s long after midnight, after all.

But they can’t. Because their partner has to make it a point to stay up absurdly long, holed up in his workshop until the sunrise, tinkering and tweeking, the warm glow of candles his only companion. Alone with only his thoughts and tools, the writing on his shield that they don't understand the only words in the room for hours.

Which is understandably unacceptable.

The floor creaks beneath their feet, head hung low, cloak gently rustling as they make their way towards him. The door is ajar, permitting the light to spill, possibly a sign that he has left the room at least a few times.

Knocking quietly just a bit, Broken pushes the door open, peeking in.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Comes a question, voice tired without any of the excessive fake pride Tiso likes to put on all the time.

“Oh, you know. The nest is empty for some reason. As if someone is missing next to me… I wonder who could that be.” Is their snarky signed answer, eyes rolling as he gives a huff and redirects his attention back to his shield.

What is he even doing this time? Isn't the weapon already deadly? Already well cared for? Every morning he takes time to check it over after breakfast,  _ hell _ he gives more attention to it than to himself sometimes. So why are the pieces stretched open to reveal the fine workings of its insides? Why work on such delicate thing at the weak light of a few candles rather than the morning’s sun?

The curiosity makes them shuffle inside the room, closing the door behind them and coming closer to investigate. They sit behind him, resting their head on his left shoulder while wrapping their arms around his stomach.

Tiso gives only a quiet groan of annoyance at the weight of their head, which is a much better response than a few years ago. Back then he'd just shoo them away at the doorstep, not trusting them around precious little machinery, as if believing they could not be careful with a single thing. As if hating presence of another soul while diving deep into concentration centered around an important craft.

That's understandable, though. Broken can understand that. Especially after he… shared some stories of his past. Cozy memories made out of tinkering in evenings while someone significant watched, attempting to learn something from the way his hands moved and words spilled out in enthusiastic rambles in countless sentences.

The someone is gone, he said when prompted further about the mysterious other. For some reason, that to this day they thank for, he told them all that he could remember about the someone. And what he could not.

How nice and soothing their voice was, always calm and collected. With mind sharper than the hidden blades of his shield. Laugh muted and smiles tight-lipped, as if they thought somebody like them shouldn’t offer happiness a way to express itself on their concealed face. Reasuring touches, safe actions… Wisdom shared through mutual experiences that shouldn’t have taken place in their lives.

How it frustrated him that he couldn’t recall their name, their face. And they didn't miss how his hands turned into tight fists while his voice trembled. How terrible it was to forget someone so significant? How  _ careless _ of him to let it happen. How- how  _ cruel _ to just let someone die in his heart, letting a life go to waste not only in the physical world but the emotional as well.

That was something that Broken knew well, too, what with an entire life of past and childhood technically completely burnt away from their mind by a goddess. So they hugged him tighter then and so they hug him tighter now too, while they recall. Because being allowed near during something so important should be treasured.

“I'm not going to be done any sooner with you creeping over my work like this, are you aware?” He complains while giving absolutely no sign of stopping close by, not pushing them away either. His shoulders only relax some, just as well as his back, unconsciously leaning with his cheek against their mask. “And I'm not going to sleep until I finish this. You know this.”

Yes, they do. And they also know that his eyes are starting to close, hands shaking just the tiniest bit. They are also aware how he sinks into the safety of their touch, giving a sigh that he would deny was he not so fatigued.

“You are bigger dumbass than I thought if you think I don't see how close you are to passing out, Tiso.” Broken signs out quickly, to get the words out before he slaps their hands weakly, mumbling about something about them lying.

Their answer to that is only to shift their wings around, so they can hug him with those too. And he complains, about the ’personal, stupid-big lamps’ getting in his way, trying to push them away once or twice before simply holding on.

Maybe he marvels about the texture of physical manifestation of soul, maybe the cold glow caught his easily slipping attention. Or maybe a single vein in the membranes turned darker for a second as their void rushed through it and the reality of seeing their undead life flowing through them so clearly gave him a pause. Seeing mortality in something supposedly immortal… how strange and captivating.

And perhaps they enjoy it when Tiso leans against them fully, back of his head nestled in the crook of their neck, antennae tucked back as sleep forces its power over him. And they quietly rumble away as the tip of his fingers slide over the edges of their wings before settling on their arms.

“You are a cheater.” he mumbles as a yawn forces its way out of him.

Broken just shrugs and nuzzles against him.

“It’s… incredibly unfair of you, that you even have such  _ audacity  _ to simply… come here and force yourself into my circle of work.” His eyelids are slowly closing, even as he tries to fight back against their embrace for a second or two and reach for his shield again.

Of course, he doesn't make it. They don't even have to do much of anything, he just growls when the shield ends up being farther than five centimeters and falls back against their chest.

“I hate you a lot.” Tiso hisses out.

They press a little kiss against his temple. A little ’I love you, too’. The shield can and will wait. Now it’s time for rest and their partner finally accepts it.

At least, if the way he turns around and nuzzles into their neck guard means anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhghghgh writing and socializing juice is back yeehaw
> 
> i swear im gon work on the main series finally sjgjsklgsjd next fic for wonwan should be Either about the grimm troupe (read; adoption of fire child happens along with some self-searching) OR something about the dreamers that ive randomly thought of (should have three chapters for each dreamer, no clue how long tbh 😔)
> 
> hopefully ill see yall again sooner than later💜


End file.
